


Elevenses

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:29:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: At exactly eleven o'clock every morning in the Amell Estate, Bodahn would ring a bell downstairs and, a few minutes later, knock on Hawke’s bedroom door to call him to midmorning tea.It never failed to annoy Fenris.





	Elevenses

At exactly eleven o'clock every morning in the Amell Estate, Bodahn would ring a bell downstairs and, a few minutes later, knock on Hawke’s bedroom door to call him to tea. 

It never failed to annoy Fenris.

The sound of Bodahn’s heavy knuckles on the door snapped him out of a warm doze and made him want to chuck a brick through the window. Hawke rose like a little figurine in a clock and scooped his finery off the floor.

“Let it get cold,” grumbled Fenris, reaching for him. The cold morning air rushed under the covers.

“It’s a lot of food, Fen,” said Hawke. “It's rude to miss it.”

“They are your servants. They will do what you say.”

"We skip breakfast most days already. If I miss teatime it will hurt Bodahn’s feelings.” Hawke pulled on his trousers. “He works so hard to make it nice.”

“He works hard because you give him nothing else to do,” said Fenris.

“Just come down and have a toast point, will you?” He reached under the covers and gave Fenris’s ribs a hard pinch. “Your little elf bones keep giving me bruises.”

Fenris was about to retort something about thin skins and bleeding Ferelden hearts, but Hawke was already opening the bedroom door and heading downstairs.

After a few minutes, the sheets began to cool. Fenris threw them back in a huff, grabbed a pair of trousers and a shirt off the floor and followed.

The jangle and tinkle of porcelain drew him to the downstairs parlor. The curtains were thrown wide, with dust motes spiraling in the splashes of yellow light. The room pressed red on Fenris’s spotting eyeballs, then cleared to reveal the two dwarves setting the ceramic teaset on the table in front of the fireplace.

The spread was appetizing, if not prettily arranged. There were slices of fresh bread with cucumber slices, little jars of jams and jellies, slabs of brie and paps of rich butter, a metal tin of chocolate biscuits, an ewer of cold milk, a pot of cream, and little canisters containing herbs to be crushed under the hot water. A tray of powdered ladyfingers balanced on the edge of the table, and in the center of it all was a cut, wet flower in a vase that had been brought in dripping from the garden, a green, black-and-whited striped spider still clamoring around its open bell.

Taking his seat on the settee opposite Hawke, Fenris silently turned over his teacup and held it out to Sandal. The tea the boy poured into it was as orange and warm as sunshine. He sipped it and found it redolent of pomegranates and tangerines. 

Bodahn beamed at them all.

"I've bought fresh octopus this morning, messere," he said to Hawke. "Would you like me to prepare it for lunch? It'll go marvelously with the fresh starfruit."

"Mmmm." Hawke chewed loudly through a mouthful of biscuits. "In about two hours, then?"

"Of course, messere."

Fenris shook his head and watched Hawke and Sandal put away more food each than he'd be able to in a lifetime. After a few minutes, Orana came in from the garden, wiping her hands on her apron, and took a seat, without asking, beside Fenris. It surprised him, the pert way she now ate meals with the Hawke family, but once again, this was the Amell Estate, and the Fereldan rules barbarism were in full effect here.

Fenris sipped his tea. He couldn't say he disapproved.

 

* * *

 

After tea was done, Hawke took his dog out into the garden. Fenris followed him and sat down on the cold bench beneath the bare alder tree. It was peaceful, until Hawke found a sodden, blackened chew toy beneath one of the bushes and decide to play a game of fetch.   

A few minutes of the sound of the ball thumping against a wall, followed by the mabari tearing across the grass like a loosed cannonball was enough for Fenris. He went back inside and shut the garden door behind him.   

He grabbed the bannister to head back up to the bedroom, when the sight of Bodahn on his hands and knees in the parlor made him halt.  

The dwarf knelt beside the half-cleared table and the tea cart, a pained expression on his face. His mouth pinched as he dug two fingers into the small of his back. A tall stack of heavy plates slumped across the floor next to him, crumbs and fruit rinds and dirty napkins spilling across the rug.

Sandal was nowhere to be seen, and Orana--from the faint, airy singing drifting from upstairs--had gone back to her room. 

"Are you all right?" asked Fenris.

Bodahn jumped. His eyes fluttered open, and he winced to his feet.

"Ah, messere, I, uh..."  

"Does your back trouble you?" asked Fenris.

"Only when I'm old," chuckled Bodahn, and began lifting plates onto the teacart. Fenris stepped in and began helping him. 

"You don't have to do that," said Bodahn, waving him away.

“I must insist.”

“No, no, I won’t have it. Shoo.”  

Fenris took a step back. He watched the older man grimace his way through cleaning up the mess, the sweat in beads on his brow. Fenris had never had more than two conversations with Hawke’s steward, but the obvious distress the man was in concerned him. He observed the mass of half-eaten food leftover on the cart. For lack of anything else, he said,

“These teas you make: they are incredibly elaborate.”

“Oh, it’s nothing compared to some households,” said Bodahn.

“Most households have more than three servants.”

“Yes, well. I make time.” Bodahn picked up a teacup from the floor. “Get up before dawn, head down to the meat market, and the fish market, and the bakeries across town for the pastries. Then I go back up the stairs to the greengrocers for vegetables for dinner, and then across the bridge to the dairy-”

Fenris blinked. “ _You_ walk down to the markets every morning?”

“I would send Sandal, but he really shouldn't go off alone. Orana has her housework, and I can’t in good conscience send the poor girl out in a strange city.”

“And so every morning you make the long walk to the markets, carry back heavy groceries, and cook all our meals in addition to your other duties?”

“Well…” Bodhan looked pained. “It is my job.”

Fenris considered telling him his employer was an idiot. “Have you considered taking on additional help?”

“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be right. This is what I was hired for, after all.”

“Have you, perhaps,” said Fenris, carefully, “considered forgoing tea?”

For one glorious moment, Fenris imagined long mornings asleep in Hawke’s arms, undisturbed and wrapped in lazy limbs, their breakfast cold and forgotten on a tray outside the door. No knock, no shout, no reason to get them out of bed at eleven, no reason at all to not sleep in until lunch.

“I couldn’t do that! Messere loves tea.”

“Of course, he does,” murmured Fenris.

Bodahn looked at the tea cart, weariness mingling with a tighter, more uncertain emotion. “You won’t tell him any of this, will you?”

“Better to keep it a secret that he overworks his servants?”

Bodahn shook his head. “You don’t understand. I need to be the one who prepares his meals for him.” He set the teacup down on top of the other stacked plates, stroking its little handle. “After Lady Leandra died, Messere Hawke took his meals alone. He rarely ate. He’d send back entire plates of food untouched. It wasn’t until you two got together that his appetite really came back. It’s just so good to see him sitting and enjoying his meals with us again.” Bodahn sighed. “I do what I can for him. Please don’t repeat this. I really don’t mind the extra work, so long as I can give a little extra back.” 

The dwarf pushed the jangling cart from the room. Fenris watched him go, then picked up a sugared cherry from the floor. A bead of cream dripped off its stem, running down his finger. He flicked it into the fireplace and sighed.

 

* * *

 

"Bodahn?" 

Fenris was lying on the couch in the upper library. He lay his book down on his chest and listened. 

"Did you know a contact of mine runs a delivery service?" asked Hawke. "Instead of going down to the market every morning, we'll have the heavier goods delivered to the door. You and Orana can still go to market for fruit on weekends, if you like, but the meat and the ice and fish will be delivered to the alley. You'll have my seal to sign off on the deliveries."

"Oh, thank you, messere." Bodahn gave a long, unburdened sigh. "That'll clear the day up nicely, actually."

"I think so. Also, I was hoping you'd be willing to teach me some of your recipes. I'm afraid I've fallen a bit into the bachelor's life." 

Fenris didn't hear the next response, but it sounded delighted. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs after a few minutes, he quickly picked up his book again.

"You are the biggest softie," said Hawke from the doorway. He leaned in the doorframe, looking much too pleased with himself.

"If you require my aid to help you run your household efficiently, then you are the one who is soft," said Fenris, “in the head.”

Hawke crossed the floor and pressed a knee into the couch, leaning close, and placed a kiss on Fenris's brow. Fenris swatted him away. 

"I can ask him to cancel tea, you know," said Hawke. "Give us another hour in the morning."

"And miss the opportunity to watch you stuff your face and add inches to your waistline?" Fenris poked Hawke in his doughy stomach. "My sharp little elf bones need cushioning."

Hawke walloped him across the face with a feather pillow. Fenris dragged him down, and by the time the tea bell rang, they were almost sated enough not to care.


End file.
